A Project That Needs Tweaking

Apologies for the lull in reviews! Currently, I am busy with a special project (did you catch the You've Got Mail reference in the title?) which honestly needs more than tweaking.

A few months ago, I began reading my pastor Sam Storms' new book Kingdom Come. It is a pretty heavy tome focused on differing eschatological perspectives of theology. And, it does indeed remind me of my Criswell College days. However, I love Sam's writing. He maintains an ideal balance of challenging scholarship and humble accessibility- a rarity in theology books. I was about halfway through the book when my dear baby Evie arrived and turned my world upside down. Thus, I had to put the book away for a while.

Well, due to the increasingly relevant nature of the topic of dispensationalism, I've decided to reread the first half and finish the book- hopefully by the end of the year. However, I haven't mentioned the challenging part yet... I am taking very detailed notes as I read. Why? Because if you are thinking deeply about spiritual truths, forming your own opinions on the topic, and willing to have open discussions with others concerning the material, then you need to make the most of all this heavy reading!

Unfortunately, I am only a quarter of the way to my goal, so I may not make it to my January 1st deadline. If I don't catch up soon, then I may sneak back on here to do a fairly easy review of a recently read book or...if I dare...a classic film.

I also wanted to sneak on here to create a sort of pre-list of potential reads for 2014. I am constantly coming up with ideas for classics and contemporaries I haven't yet read.

Below is a list of titles that have most recently piqued my interest.



A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess (A dystopian novella mentioned in the inspired Carolyn Weber memoir: Surprised by Oxford; Check out her blog at... www.pressingsave.com)

Moby Dick by Herman Melville (Needs no explanation, I'm sure.)

Charles Dickens (The author, not the book, if there exists a book. I'm not sure yet which titles I'd like to start with, but I'd love to sample at least a couple of his books in a row. I love getting a better feel for the author by comparing and contrasting multiple works. If you have any recommendations, please let me know. I have A Tale of Two Cities and Great Expectations, so those are definite possibilities.)

The Unvanquished by William Faulkner (I've read two of his works, and I LOVE the dynamic artistry of his style. I also happen to have this one on my bookshelf, and I am always endeavoring to read every title I own before going out to acquire more.)

The House of Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Willa Cather (An author recently recommended by my significant other.)

Cormac McCarthy (Another beloved author recommended by my beloved.)

Earnest Hemingway (I'll probably start with the collection of short stories recently acquired from Half Price Books.)

The Moviegoer by Walker Percy (Which has been a primary influence for the creation of one of my favorite blogs to read, The Search- www.stillsearching.wordpress.com)

The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis (One of those I-Should-Have-Read-Long-Ago reads.)



These are mostly books or names I just read from my bookshelf. As previously mentioned, I prefer to read things I already have on my numerous and cluttered bookshelves rather than merely adding to the collection. I recently heard it said that there was no point in collecting books because they are merely trophies and have no use once you have already read them. I disagree! One may loan them out, reference favorite parts by going back and looking up quotes, and reread them at will. I admit that I rarely do any of those things, but it does happen. I promise. ;)

Stay tuned for more posts. I'm mulling over the possibility of a Why Classics? post and a review of a Hemingway short story I recently read.

What are your favorite classics?
What kinds of books line your shelves, fill up your e-reader, or play on audio?
Do you have any recommendations?

Keep Savoring,

Natasha W.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof by Tennessee Williams

Relationship.


If there is one word to sum up the focus of this play, that is it. The scene begins and ends in the bedroom and the hot-and-cold, cat-and-mouse marriage relationship of Brick and Margaret (also known as "Maggie the Cat") in this play by Tennessee Williams. But it isn't just about the two of them.  Virtually every relationship between the main characters is put under the microscope to be examined and explored, pulled taut and set on fire as "Maggie the Cat" on the simmering hot tin roof of her marriage, pushes and pulls and strategizes to save them both and revive her ever-cool and stoic, alcoholic Brick. Whether reading the original script or watching the film version, you'll have to make it a glass of ice cold tea to make it through this one.

This story touches deep and close to human nature, and uncomfortably so. In fact, this is one of the very rare cases in which I would recommend the movie version over the book version. Why? Because the movie suavely conveys every bit of intensity and every degree of heat, and does so without the excessive use of vulgarity and sexual innuendo. There is a surprising amount of muck in the original script that was thankfully tossed out in the movie: several occurrences of "the F word", using the Lord's name as a swear word, and sexual explicitness. So, I am basically reviewing the story within both the book and the movie version.

However, it is worth noting that there are a couple of major differences between the two:

1.  In the original script, the entire drama takes place in the bedroom, where as in the movie version, the story moves from the high school athletic field to the airport to the front yard to the bedroom to the living room, then outside and back into the living room, in the basement and at the stairwell, finally ending back in the bedroom. While I recognize that the decision to confine all of the explosive drama in the bedroom was very much intentional on the part of Williams, I actually prefer the movement within the film. In fact, when watching the film, the story successfully felt confined enough to compliment and amplify the electric intensity of the dialog and the tension within the relationships. When reading the script, the decision to keep everything in one room felt forced, unrealistic, and a bit on-the-nose, as they say. The bedroom is symbolic. We get it. But I felt that we got that in the movie when the drama largely took place in and ended in the bedroom, as well. Not only that, but keeping everything within Big Daddy's house (or just outside of it) felt symbolic, as well. The house is the scene for the household issues. Plus, the movement within the film allowed for more artistic freedom, as seen in the storm that broke out when Brick finally reached his own breaking point (gothic dualism?) and was immersed in the downpour outside.

2. In the original script, more was explained and less was resolved. For instance, we actually got to the bottom of Brick's relationship with his best friend Skipper. You see, (SPOILER ALERT:) Maggie seduced Skipper to prove that he had impure feelings for Brick. Skipper complied to prove her wrong, but afterwards felt so guilty, he called Brick and not only confessed to the adultery, but also his romantic love for Brick. Brick hung up on him, compelling Skipper to kill himself. So not only can Brick not forgive Maggie for killing his best friend and tricking his best friend into thinking he was in love with him, but he also cannot forgive himself for forsaking his best friend during his time of need.

And, I will say that the script makes it quite clear that Brick regards homosexuality as an impure thing. While he does allude to the culture's intolerance of it, he in no way indicates that he disagrees. He insists, rather, that he and Skipper had a pure, true friendship above reproach.

 And as far as resolution goes, the movie is leaps and bounds more conclusive than the script. In the film, there is an entire new scene in which we go down into the basement with Big Daddy where he is surrounded by his material wealth- all kinds of collected souvenirs from his world travels which symbolize the very wealth he has accumulated which ironically still cannot buy immortality or love. But while this idea is alluded to in the script, it is explored in the movie to the point of unearthing Big Daddy's real fears and even hinting at his genuine love for his wife (whom he constantly disrespects during the earlier movie scenes and throughout the entire original script). He not only faces his fear of death, but also comes to realize that the love his materially poor father had for him as a child added up far and beyond the love he has shown his own family by giving them material gifts all their lives. He comes face to face with that which is most satisfying in life- true, sincere, simple love. And he makes the conscious choice to live, even after he knows he is going to die. This resolution is profound- almost spotlight stealing in the way it is played out between father and son. And sadly, none of this occurs in the original script at all. (Note: This could be because Williams did not believe that real heart change should take place in a drama, as he insisted that this was unrealistic. He felt that the story would be truer if it ended without that particular satisfaction, but rather exhibiting that the characters remain in their self-conflict and maintain their too-deeply-rooted-to-resolve issues.)

 Furthermore, we see some real resolution and even glimpses of forgiveness and changed hearts between Brick and Maggie in the movie, who are uniting at last to "make the lie true"- that is, the lie that Maggie is pregnant. While this last act is hinted at in the original script, it is only done so against Brick's conscious will (he has heard the mechanical click, but Maggie informs him that she has stolen all his liquor until he will sleep with her), and ends with his last cynical, bitter yet resigned remark that (echoing what Big Daddy said to Big Mama) only if it were true that she really did love him.

Read the quote below to get the full impression:

"(Maggie:)
I do love you, Brick, I do!

Brick [smiling with charming sadness]:
Wouldn't it be funny if that were true?"

 Not only does it end with the profoundly sad statement that both Brick and Big Daddy do not believe they are loved, but we also realize that Brick is given up entirely to his alcoholic lifestyle.

 Thankfully, the movie ends on a much more positive and less ambiguous note. We are left with the impression that Big Daddy really does love Big Mama (despite his constant verbal abuse of her), that Brick and Maggie really do love one another, and that Brick is most likely going to give up alcohol and get his life together. The result is SO much more satisfying.

I first watched the movie version played by Paul Newman (Brick), Elizabeth Taylor ("Maggie"), and Burl Ives (Big Daddy) many years ago, and have seen it many times since. I was able to enjoy the same rich southern dialog and the same emotional intensity when I read the script. In fact, in many ways, it was like watching the drama in slow motion, and thus being able to pick up on more to appreciate the depth of the story.

Here are a few favorite excerpts:


"[There are sounds of croquet on the lawn below: the click of mallets, light voices, near and distant.]

(Margaret:) Of course, you always had that detached quality as if you were playing a game without much concern over whether you won or lost, and now that you've lost the game, not lost but just quit playing, you have that rare sort of charm that usually only happens in very old or hopelessly sick people, the charm of the defeated.-You look so cool, so cool, so enviably cool." Act I, pg 30
______

"Margaret:
-What's the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof? -I wish I knew...

Just staying on it, I guess, as long as she can..." Act I, pg 31
____



"Brick:
Why can't exceptional friendship, real, real, deep, deep friendship! between two men be respected as something clean and decent without being thought of as-

Big Daddy:
It can, it is, for God's sake.

Brick:
-Fairies...

[In his utterance of this word, we gauge the wide and profound reach of the conventional mores he got from the world that crowned him with early laurel.]" Act II, pg 123
_____

This play explores immortality, materialism, hypocrisy, and social norms, in addition to the dynamic relationships between father and son, mother and son, man and wife, best friends, and in-laws. Additionally, it deals with one central topic I didn't even mention- "mendacity" or, "lies and liars," which is also at the root of Brick's disgust and alcoholism. So, let me just say that there is still much to savor in Williams' masterpiece which I did not even go into.

Read the play- but better yet, follow up with watching the stunningly well-made movie. You will be captivated, challenged, and emotionally moved up to the very end.

Have you read a book and movie of the same story, and found that you actually preferred the movie version?

Natasha W.

William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury

Let me begin by saying that a part of me (albeit, a lazy part) did not even want to review this book. Why? Because it is deep. It is exhaustingly full, overwhelmingly profound, and unbelievably complex. Think of the Harry Potter series - that is, remember how intricate the seven-book-series plot was. Now condense the very genius of it into three hundred thirty-five pages (all magic and fantasy elements aside).

Now multiply that condensed-Harry-Potter-complexity-genius to the tenth power. Is your mind blown yet? Mine is.

I cannot possibly give this book its due by reviewing it, so please keep that in mind as you read this review or take on the challenge of reading it yourself. Also, know that it contains spoilers. I actually had to look up the book’s plot on Spark Notes before I could figure out what was going on in chapter one. So, I don’t think the spoilers will actually spoil anything for you. 

The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner is just one of the numerous books the Mississippi native wrote in order to explore what he called, “the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself.” It has been possibly the most challenging read I have ever come across, even to the point of rivaling Dostoevsky’s The Brother’s Karamazov, which was a painful experience up until the epilogue. However, it was difficult for very different reasons. The former, set in 1928, then 1910, then 1928 again for the final two chapters, was challenging in its format and complexity, where as Dostoevsky’s was challenging because I hated most of the characters and plot (again, up until the epilogue which sort of justified the rest of the book for me). 

The book was written during the 1920’s-1930’s eugenics movement in the United States, in which steps were taken to sterilize (and therefore rid the earth of) anyone who exhibited any of a long list of so-called “defects” (including such ridiculous “traits” as shiftlessness, suspected inbreeding, feeblemindedness, and an inherited tendency toward criminality). This is when Faulkner chose to begin his masterpiece from the perspective of a severely mentally challenged man named Benjy. Is it any wonder that Faulkner won the Nobel Prize? I think not.

The author uses words to powerfully and artistically convey the perspectives of four of its main characters: Benjy (aka Maury), Quentin, Jason, and Dilsey. The first was written from the perspective of thirty-three year old, mentally challenged Benjy, who paints us a picture through blurred flashes of memory, mixing up the chronology of events and imbuing the world with an unspeakable poignancy. Let me just say that my heart was heavy throughout that chapter. It is like writing a book using water colors- or looking at a Monet (or, at times, even something abstract) instead of a photograph. It was pure emotion and experience. I found myself rereading again and again just to make sense of what was going on.

Next, we jump back in time to 1910 from the perspective of Benjy’s older brother Quentin, just before he drowns himself while at school at Harvard. His voice is at times scarcely easier to understand than Benjy’s, as he copes with the emotional turmoil of his obsession with their sister Caddy and her heartbreaking life decisions. To put it simply, the sister he was so close to during his childhood decides to abandon purity and begins sleeping around. The very thought of this nearly drives Quentin insane. This chapter also brought back much of the stream-of-consciousness charm (and compelling genius) that we saw in Absolom, Absolom! which was also told largely from the perspective of Quentin Compson to his roommate Shreve while at Harvard.

Next, we jump forward to return to 1928 from the voice of the easy-to-hate Compson brother, Jason. He is racist, prejudice, bitter to the point of blindness, deceitful, and selfish, among other things. He, too, has been profoundly affected by their enigmatic sister, Caddy, and some of the awful decisions she has made. He takes out his rage on the only person he can, Caddy’s illegitimate daughter, named Quentin after their brother, who is left to live with Jason, his mother, Benjy, and the household of slaves. 

Finally, we get to the final chapter, which focuses on Dilsey, the faithful and God-fearing slave who practically raises the Compson children and takes care of the entire household. However, it isn’t told from her voice, but from a third person perspective. And it is in this chapter that Faulkner’s writing technique really takes flight into some of the most eloquent prose I have ever read. 

Looking back, it was a kind of progression in writing styles from the least coherent to the most eloquent. And yet, the title for the story comes from a portion of Macbeth Act V, Scene V, which draws our attention back to Benjy.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day 

To the last syllable of recorded time, 

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle. 

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player 

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale 

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

           (V.v.18–27)

Caddy is a character who must be remarked upon, as everything and everyone else in the story seems to revolve around her, her decisions, her compassion, her selfishness. Indeed, it could be argued that she is the primary reason for the very falling of the once lofty Compson family, as we see the very unraveling of the family take place in this novel. Caddy is the mother figure in spite of her hypochondriac mother’s constant presence in the story. She protects and pours out her affection into Benjy, and she is the root of all hatred in the heart of embittered Jason. She is the common denominator in the scattered, profuse outpouring of consciousness in Quentin’s last thoughts before he takes his own life. And yet she is perhaps a character foil to Dilsey, who lovingly and persistently cares for the entire Compson family (another mother figure), faithfully serves those who care little for her, and takes Benjy to church where she has a profound spiritual encounter with the Lord. Dilsey, not Caddy, is the true hero of the story. While everyone obsesses over the troubled, passionately loved and passionately hated girl, the faithful slave presses onward and commands the readers’ greatest respect and admiration. 

There is also a progression of sorts in chronology, as the book begins on the Saturday before Easter, symbolizing when Christ was still in the tomb, and ends on Easter Sunday, celebrating His resurrection. There are also many references to this resurrection theme which I will not even go into. Let me reiterate: this book is what it is cracked up to be. It is Nobel Prize worthy. It makes me want to go take a nap just thinking about it. 

Finally, I must remark upon the appendix to the novel. Faulkner himself noted that it is, “the key to the whole book.” So, you can’t really get away from reading the appendix. And he is absolutely right. The appendix brings everything together beautifully.

And now, to really whet your appetite for a hot cup of tea and a slow, patient reading of the text, here are a few of my favorite excerpts:

“The street lamps go down the hill then heard the car go down the hill. The chair-arm flat cool smooth under my forehead shaping the chair the apple tree leaning on my hair above the eden clothes by the nose seen  “ pg 108, chapter 2

“The lane went between back premises-unpainted houses with more of those gay and startling colored garments on lines, a barn broken-backed, decaying quietly among rank orchard trees, unpruned and weed-choked, pink and white and murmurous with sunlight and with bees.” pg 128, chapter 2

“The day dawned bleak and chill, a moving wall of gray light out of the northeast which, instead of dissolving into moisture, seemed to disintegrate into minute and venomous particles, like dust that, when Dilsey opened the door of the cabin and emerged, needled laterally into her flesh, precipitating not so much a moisture as a substance partaking of the quality of thin, not quite congealed oil. She wore a stiff black straw hat perched upon her turban, and a maroon velvet cape with a border of mangy and anonymous fur above a dress of purple silk, and she stood in the door for awhile with her myriad and sunken face lifted to the weather, and one gaunt hand flac-soled as the belly of a fish, then she moved the cape aside and examined the bosom of her gown.”

pg 255, chapter 4

That is my ridiculously long, and yet no where near exhaustive, take on Faulkner’s masterpiece. It is a book that will probably only get better with subsequent readings. So if you haven’t read it yet, then stop putting it off. It is well worth the challenge.

What is the most challenging book you have read?

Natasha W.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Upon rereading The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald, I can now see why I had trouble retaining the material in my premier reading of the book. There were many moments when I felt that the author was trying to say something that was simply beyond my mental capabilities to grasp. Although this has been my most patient reading of the novel, I still don’t feel that I was able to digest it entirely to satisfaction. However, there was much that was tasted, savored, and swallowed that made for a delectable literary experience.

The narrator’s voice, that of character Nick Carraway is likable, conscientious, and holds ideal qualities as a confidante. I couldn’t shake the feeling, as I tagged along on Carraway’s narrative, that he was at one time an influence on Holden Caulfield. However, I recently watched a documentary titled, “Salinger” so I’m sort of seeing the Holden Caulfield in everything. I also saw similarities with the writings of Truman Capote (Breakfast at Tiffany's) and W. Somerset Maugham (The Razor's Edge).

I confess that I had issues with visualizing the characters. I've seen the previews of the new movie version of the story, starring the spectacular Leonardo DiCaprio, and I couldn't get him out of my head when viewing Gatsby's character. I tried and tried, however, to imagine F. Scott Fitzgerald's character in the magnificent Woody Allen film, Midnight In Paris. I absolutely love the Fitzgeralds in that movie. But I digress...

It is at the beginning of the novel that Carraway gives us this line:

“Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.”

And yet, the general feeling of the novel is not of hopefulness, but of wistful melancholy, supported by character after character exhibiting signs of cynicism, despair, and hopelessness. Fitzgerald’s diction is rich, but it is rich with sadness, coloring the Long Island scene with “yellow cocktail music” and chauffeurs in uniforms of “robin’s-egg blue” and millionaires in “white flannels”. He dazzles the reader as Gatsby dazzles his guests, glorifying the concept of the crowd and masterfully capturing the feeling of being lost in its “swirls and eddies”.

Below is a favorite excerpt:

“The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun, and now the orchestra is playing yellow cocktail music, and the opera of voices pitches a key higher. Laughter is easier minute by minute, spilled with prodigality, tipped out at a cheerful word. The groups change more swiftly, swell with new arrivals, dissolve and form in the same breath; already there are  wanderers, confident girls who weave here and there among the stouter and more stable, become for a sharp, joyous moment the center of a group. and then, excited with triumph, glide on through the sea-change of faces and voices and color under the constantly changing light.”

Indeed, the entire universe is involved in Gatsby’s parties. It is this grandeur that sets the stage for irony, however, as we are given in the end a rather painful view of humanity. The plot is one in which it is easy to become emotionally embroiled, as the relationships between the main characters are crossed, tested, and ultimately revealed, to the profound sorrow of our narrator who was always taught to reserve judgements.

Nearly all of the characters are presented in light of their cynicism and fakery, their weakness, debauchery, faithlessness, dishonesty, selfishness, or as in the case of James Gatz, singleminded naivety. It is the depiction of a frustrated world set against the backdrop of the relentless Sound, the breakers of life pushing us ever backward with only that “yellow cocktail music” as a consolation.

What do you think? What was your take on this novel? Did you see the new movie version, and if so, should I see it, too?

Villette by Currer Bell

It took me almost four months to finish reading Villette by Charlotte Bronte (pseudonym Currer Bell). Why did it take me so long? Well, although I’ve been often stuck on my couch or recliner nursing and burping and making googly eyes at my baby girl, I usually run into a few obstacles to reading: 1. My brain feels fried due to lack of rest, too much stress, and having to work on other things like grocery lists and our budget. 2. It is easier to watch tv or a movie. 3. Evie falls asleep for her often-elusive naps when I feed her with the lights off.

But at last, I’ve finished this Victorian literary treasure.

A few quotes with which to (for me) savor and (for you) entice.

“Above the poplars, the laurels, the cypresses, and the roses, looked up a moon so lovely and so halcyon, the heart trembled under her smile; a star shone subject beside her with the unemulous ray of pure love. In a large garden near us, a jet rose from a well, and a pale statue leaned over the play of waters.” Vol III, Faubourg Clotilde, pg 455.

“A moon was in the sky, not a full moon but a young crescent. I saw her through a space in the boughs over-head. She and the stars, visible beside her, were no strangers where all else was strange: my childhood knew them. I had seen that golden sign with the dark globe in its curve leaning back on azure, beside an old thorn at the top of an old field, in Old England, in long past days, just as it now leaned back beside a stately spire in this continental capital.” Vol I, The Casket, pg 99.

“...-a Methuselah of a pear-tree, dead, all but a few boughs which still faithfully renewed their perfumed snow in spring, and their honey-sweet pendants in autumn- you saw, in scraping away the mossy earth between the half-bared roots, a glimpse of slab, smooth, hard, and black.” Vol I, The Casket, pg 96.

“One night a thunderstorm broke; a sort of hurricane shook us in our beds: the Catholics rose in panic and prayed to their saints. As for me, the tempest took hold of me with tyranny: I was roughly roused and obliged to live. I got up and dressed myself, creeping outside the casement close by my bed, sat on its ledge, with my feet on the roof of a lower adjoining building. It was wet, it was wild, it was pitch-dark. Within the dormitory they gathered round the light-lamp in consternation, praying loud. I could not go in: too resistless was the delight of staying with the wild hour, black and full of thunder, pealing out such an ode as language never delivered to man- too terribly glorious, the spectacle of clouds, split and pierced by white and blinding bolts.”  Vol I, The casket, pg 99.

I love that excerpt of the storm! I feel a vivid sense of kinship when I experience sitting on that ledge of the french boarding house in the middle of a glorious storm right there alongside Lucy. These are the experiences I read for!

Below are my thoughts on the novel.

At a glance, the story comes across as stoic, austere, and formidable. However, I have found Bronte’s work to be moving beneath the surface. I feel that much of the resistance met while reading the novel lies in the fact that it is Victorian, and therefore chalk-full of that corset-strung formality in its diction. One must peer through these prison bars to see the treasure inside, and I fear that most people do not have the patience to attempt it.

One cannot well comment on a story told in the first person narrative without alluding to the character of the narrator herself. Lucy Snowe is a woman that I soon found to be the kind of character I would love to befriend in real life. She is quick and sharp, yet patient and endlessly self-effacing. She is realistic and self-possessing, well-mannered and full of common sense. However, it is this very self-effacement, carried out to such incredible lengths, that I eventually found to be tiring. There is such feeling of self-suppression and humility, that I found myself crying out to see something give- to see a sufficient outburst, to watch this character get way out of character, to grow and deepen and stretch into a ferocious lioness. And I was somewhat dissatisfied to see her merely growl a time or two and yet maintain her shape as a subdued and docile lamb. But perhaps this is more telling of the reader than the story itself.

It is indeed her very passion that moves beneath the surface. And though I badly wanted to watch it swell and crest and burst forth with all the glory of white caps and that cosmic oceanic rush exhibited in other heroines, I was yet mesmerized by its subtler movements. This story is deep. It contains depths, I think, that are incredibly rare- and here lies the treasure! The narrator expertly delves into the human psyche, and deeper still, into the soul, permeating the very fiber of humanity. The story is so skillfully portrayed and so beautifully complex like a many faceted prism, shedding light on a thousand different subjects, ideas, and questions.

Villette is full to the brim with french language, dual personalities, gothic dualism, personification of nature and virtues, allusions to mythology, masterful imagery, character foils, profound revelations of the soul, scripture references, and even brief discourses on the opposing views of protestantism and catholicism. It is full, indeed!

I will even grant Bronte two very respectable feats- that of an original story and that of the element of surprise. Yes, she kept me on my toes from beginning to end in that regard! Just when I thought I knew where things were headed or what would become of certain characters, she led me down an entirely different path.

This story contains truly classic elements of suspense, drama, tragedy, and romance. In the end, I loved the tale and feel more wise and intelligent from Bronte’s (and Lucy’s) “histoire” than before.

While it is probably uncouth to comment on the ending of the story, I am fascinated with the ways different authors choose to end stories. For instance, I LOVE Tolstoy’s War and Peace, though the ending of the story contained a 90(ish) page discourse on history, which was quite honestly boring and anticlimactic. In contrast, Dostoevsky’s The Brother’s Karamazov was an absolutely painful experience for me all the way through up until the beautiful and masterful ending. And so I feel that I must say a word on the ending of Villette. It was quite honestly confusing, and my last lingering feeling toward the author during my reading experience was that of anger and frustration. It ended with a sense of ambiguity, and I can’t say that I thought it was justly handled. While I love the idea of an open ending, I would never want to leave readers feeling frustrated, angry, and confused. I would want to make a way for them to choose what really happened with a sense of finality and conviction. I just can’t experience those feelings with the ending of Villette. I just keep thinking, “What???” Yes, with all three question marks! It is maddening and preposterous. However, sometimes you have to acknowledge that a work is incredible in spite of its ending, while in the case of Dostoevsky it is the very ending which redeems the work as a whole. So, farewell, for a time, Victorian literature. And farewell for good my dear lioness-lamb, Lucy Snowe.

Next up? A long-anticipated rereading of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. And while it is early to judge, I am already considering a second work by Faulkner after that. Therefore, it is also time to say au revoir to dear France for the time being. I am craving again to taste America, and savor the south (a literary flavor that nobody serves up quite like Faulkner).